


Without You, I'm Nothing

by orphan_account



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Abusive Parents, Awkward Boners, Based on Songs, Bruises, Burns, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Grandparent/Grandchild Incest, Homophobic Slurs, M/M, Not my intention but ill tag that too ok, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prison, Relapse, Reunions, Slurs, Smoking, Smoking Kink, Space Prison, This is kind of mortycest???? Um, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Smoking, Underage Substance Use, jerry is. not beth tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:11:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5323526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick taught him to live his life to the full, but without him . . . what really is there for Morty to do?</p><p>A series of shorts on Rick's imprisonment, how Morty deals with it, and reunion. Chapters will be song-based, and will include lyrics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gasoline

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda know where I want this to go but definitely leave any ideas you'd like to see. I think I'll let this go six chapters tops, but who knows? Maybe at some point it'll be a full length thing. Comments are my motivation, so please leave one on how you thought about it! :)  
> Based on 'High by the Beach' by Lana Del Rey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Losing his sense of self, Morty turns to substance abuse. He's working on a plan, though. He knows what he's doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on Gasoline by Halsey. 
> 
> my poor mort. One use of a homophobic slur in this chapter.  
> Also hi sorry I deleted the original chapter one I didn't like it that's pretty much that

       Morty watches the smoke flow into the strong winds outside his window, swirling and intertwining like strands of ribbon. He tugs a small smile at the gross elegance of it, before pulling the cigarette back to his lips. His knees go weak as he savours the burn in his mouth, blowing the smoke out again when it threatens to burn his tongue. His chest shudders when he accidentally inhales harshly, sending him into a rough coughing fit that forces him to his knees. He smashes the end of his cigarette down against the window sill before continuing his coughing and sputtering. Catching his breath again, he leans up against the window, heart sinking when he sees Jessica across the street, staring up at him. Fuck, he almost forgot people walk to school. Or that school existed in general, really . . . he didn't go too often. He waves lazily, though he can't tell what her expression is from this distance. He knows people whisper about him. Summer once mentioned something about people thinking he dealed weed, or the teachers thinking he switched schools.

        Jessica hesitates for a moment before continuing on her way. Morty sighs and falls back onto the floor, eyes fluttering shut.

 

_(Are you insane like me?_

_Been in pain like me?_

_Bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me?_

_Just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me?)_

 

        He falls asleep at 7 pm that night. His sleep schedule had been shit for months, but this wasn't exactly the solution he wanted. Jerry yelled at him over dinner. You're a failure, you used to be such a good kid, you're becoming just like _him_. Summer had heard Jerry's insults so much she just knew not to try against him, letting Beth fight back instead. Morty had cleared his plate and cleaned up before heading upstairs. “Goodnight Summer, Goodnight mom.” he had said, watching as Jerry turned to him expectantly. Morty didn't indulge him, heading straight to his room.

       He wakes up at 3 in the morning, awake and achey.  Realizing he's out of smokes, he decides that just maybe he'll go to school in the morning. He studies Rick's old notebooks until it's time to get ready.

       He looks at himself in the mirror, studying himself. Dark eyes, acne scars, cigarette burns, and bleeding lips. He knows how to clean up, he's done it before. Leaning over to Summer's drawer, he pulls out a tube of concealer and a case of pressed powder. Jerry had once walked in on him applying his makeup and muttered what Morty could have sworn was “faggot”. It takes him a few layers of powder to cover up his under-eye circles. Morty slaps on some antiseptic and lip balm before heading out the door.

( _Are you high enough without the mary jane like me?_

_Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?_

_Do the people whisper 'bout you on the train like me?_

_Saying that you shouldn't waste your pretty face like me . .)_

     His first class is english, much to his dismay. Currently they're doing reports on the book 'Speak' by Laurie Halse Anderson, a book which he finds reminds him of his own life too much for comfort. He revamps the build for the ship during class instead, blasting music through his earphones to block out the whispers. His heart almost bursts out of his chest when someone nudges his shoulder. He calms himself, removing his earphones and looking over. It's Jessica. She's asking for a pen. He searches his bag for an extra before handing it to her, Her stare lingers on the bruises and scabs covering his inner arms, but simply thanks him before turning back to her work. He sighs. He wonders what other things he could fuel the ship with.

    The first thing he hears upon opening the door to his home is dripping with frustration. “And where were you, young man?” Jerry asks, storming over to him.

“School.”

“Oh _really?_ I don't believe that.”

“Good for you.” Morty mumbles, kicking off his shoes and heading upstairs. Halfway up the stairs, Jerry begins raising his voice.

“You're useless to this household! If you want to be so disobediant and unappreciative then why don't you just move out? This is reality Morty, you've got to start forgetting all the bullshit Rick implanted in your head!”

_(You can't wake up, this is not a dream_

_You're part of a machine, you are not a human being_

_With your face all made up, living on a screen_

_Low on self esteem, so you run on gasoline.)_

        Morty waits until dinner to sneak into Rick's old room with a bottle of vodka and a new pack of cigs. He sits tiredly on the floor drinking and listening to Rick's abandoned CD's. Depeche Mode, Elastica, a bunch of other bands he'd never heard before that were amazing to cry to . . .

        He wipes the tears away from his eyes as he lights another cigarette. He used to love watching Rick smoke. Morty always thought it seemed like each stream of smoke that came from his mouth told a story. A kind person smoking out his pain.

        Jerry was right, he really was becoming like Rick.

        Beth finds Morty passed out in a pool of vomit and cigarette butts in the morning.

 

_(My heart is gold, and my hands are cold . . .)_

 

        Morty is set on fixing up a new ship. He wants to leave the house, he wants to leave the planet. All he wants is to fucking leave. Beth worries about him spending so much time in the garage, though, which he sometimes feels bad about. She's a good woman, he knows. Not a great mom, but she's a good woman at least. She often checks in on him, making sure he's eating properly, staying hydrated, sleeping, staying sober . . . He hates worrying her. He's messing up the family even more, but he has to keep working. He isn't going anywhere anytime soon without Rick, anyways, so why bother with a life on Earth?

 

_(Are you deranged like me?_

_Are you strange like me?_

_Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?_

_Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?)_

        Morty stares at the base he has prepped for the ship. Rick would be proud, he likes to think. He already knows his family mostly isn't, but he does his best to put that behind him.

“ _I can't wake up, this is not a dream._

_I'm part of a machine, I am not a human being._

_With my face all made up, living on a screen._

_Low on self-esteem, so I run on gasoline.”_

 

        He'll get out of here, he knows it. He's willing to give up his family, his humanity, his love, his health, his planet. Some people are that important. Rick is that important.

 

_(My heart is gold, and my hands are cold . . .)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im taking this fucker places ok I promise u


	2. You Should Know Where I'm Coming From

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morty's plan had been set in motion, and whilst it wasn't exactly like he expected, he's okay for now. Now he has to move on to new ideas, with himself as an informant. But the question is, can he trust himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probs kind of out character, but I'm going to use Rick's detox mood swings and Morty's depression as justifications. This story is mostly based on personality development anyways, so.
> 
> Based on You Should Know Where I'm Coming From by Banks.
> 
> Thank you so much for the nice feedback! And hey, let me know if you'd rather see 'I Am Not a Robot' (Marina) or 'Every You Every Me' (Placebo) as an Evil Morty song! The songs usually change the dialogue and mood of the chapter, so let me know what song you'd rather have as a setting! :)

         Morty huffs, wiping his hands on his overalls as he leans back to admire his handywork. It looked . . . better. Tossing off his goggles, he grabs his tape recorder and presses record.

         “3:25 PM, First of May, 2016. Update number 198. Just made adjustments to the engine and fuel tank, preparing for test drive.” He moves to sit in the drivers seat of the ship, much comfier and cleaner than Rick's had been. Strapping on a seat belt, he maneuvers to the sequence of startup buttons he had entered numerous times before. He smirks at the oddly gentle sound of the engine starting up. “Startup still functional, engine is pleasingly quiet. Now let's just hope this baby works this time.” He says before setting the recorder into the passenger's seat, before gently pressing on the peddle. The ship slowly wheels forward out of the garage, resting in the driveway. Morty takes a deep breath before flicking a switch on the dashboard, bringing the wheels in and prompting the ship to hover gently above the cement. With the press of another peddle, the ship lifts higher, wobbling slightly as it adjusted. Once it had steadied, Morty pressed upwards onto the steering wheel, sending the ship up and forward. “Oh my god I'm moving and I'm not crashing,” Morty smiles with determination, moving the ship forward a bit more to test it was still stable. He was currently positioned over the street behind the neighbour's house, a good distance considering. Gaining some confidence from the stability, Morty flies the ship higher over the houses, lapping around a few streets before coming back and positioning for a landing in the driveway. It lands smoothly, and for a moment Morty doesn't believe it. He moves the ship back into the garage before unbuckling his seat belt and grabbing the tape recorder.

         “ . . . It fucking works.” Morty's smile widens as he nearly jumps for joy. “It works, motherfucker! Oh my god!” Soon coming down from the celebration, Morty shuts off the recording, tossing it aside as he runs to his room to pack.

         “Woah, woah, Morty! What are you doing?” Beth asks, nearly bumping into him.

         “I'm going on a trip! I'll be back in a few days, I promise!” Morty yells back, excitement coating his voice.

 

_(What if I said I would break your heart?_

_ What if I said I had problems that made me mean? _

_ What if I knew I would just rip your mind apart? _

_ Would you let me out?) _   


         He grabs a large black duffel bag from under his bed, zipping it open and beginning to toss a couple clothing items into it. He looked around his room in thought. He needed to make sure he had everything he needed. “Cigs, meds, notebooks, mouthwash, bandage . . .” he pauses, moving over to his desk. He glances around at the sentimental contents, before grabbing the small black pocket knife he kept. He wants to bring some of the many items in his drawer, but it'd be a shame if he lost any of them. He'll be back anyways, so if he's making a long trip then he'll take them. Right now he just needs to see off-planet., make a quick stop . . .

         Heading back downstairs, he shoves a few cans of pop into his bag before moving into the living room.  “Love you mom, love you Summer . . . and uh, see you later Jerry.” Morty says, hugging his mother before heading back out into the garage.

         “Have fun sweety.” Beth calls out after him.

 

 

         Leaving orbit by himself was weird, but overall he makes it out smoothly. Anxious and excited, he takes a deep breath as he moves to shuffle through notebooks. Finding the right one, he flips through it until finding a section with coordinates, almost in the style of an address book. It took him a while to figure out, but between all of Rick's old study material and a good GPS system in the ship, he knows he'll get there. Mill_haven Maximum Security Penitentiary. It's a long, quiet ride to his destination.

_(Maybe you can stop before you start,)_

         He doesn't quite believe it when he sees it. It's large, dark, and seemingly well-gaurded. He takes a moment to calm down, before moving the ship into a visitor's lane. The gaurd looks down at him before sighing. “Name.”

“Morty Smith.”

“Ah. And who have you come to visit?”

“Rick Sanchez.”

_(Maybe you can see that I just may be too crazy to love.)_

         “ . . . I . . . I see.” he presses a few buttons, closing the doors behind them and opening those to the entrance. “Well you're really the only visitor today, not many people come around to visit these sickos, so you can leave your vehicle here if you want. Step out and follow me.” Morty stays quiet and follows him into some sort of examining room. They run him through a detector before giving him a bracelet and bringing him into the visiting room, oddly low-tech and Earth-like. Maybe they weren't all that big on security after all.

         Morty sits down in the small chair in front of the glass and patiently waits for them to bring him out.

_(What if I told you solitude fits me like a glove?_

_Would you let me out?)_

 

        “Sanchez!” what the fuck do they want now. “You've got a visitor. This way.” the gaurd guides him by the arm while Rick tries to figure out who the hell would visit him. He slips into a distant state of confusion before being brought into the visiting room. The colour yellow catches his eye. This isn't real, he isn't here, he must be hallucinating still . . .  but he knows that isn't true.

        Rick sits down in the chair as the gaurds leave the room. Morty watches curiously as they do so, but decides to leave the questions for later. There's silence until Rick leans towards the small microphone.

“Why are you here?”

“. . . . It's been almost a year.”

“Wait, wait, no.  _How_ are you here, Morty?” 

“I, ah, built my own ship. I've been working on it for six months.”

“I'd like to see it to believe it, but Morty, please . . . why would you visit me? How did you find this place?”

 

_(You ought to know where I'm coming from_

_How I was alone when I burned my home_

_And all of the pieces were torn and thrown,)_

 

        “I wanted to see you. I know I said I could handle it, but that was a point where I thought I was fucking stable. I don't think I am anymore. You were the only thing that really motivated me to be strong, and without you around I've mostly given up. I just wanted to see you again.”

“Morty . . . I, I know it's hard, Morty, but-”

“ How long is your sentence?”

_(You should know where I'm coming from.)_

“. . . Life, and then some.” Morty chokes back a sob, and things go quiet. “Y-y'know, I'm not trying to make it sound like I didn't want to see you.” Morty swears he hears a tremble in the old man's voice, something uncommon for someone usually so certain of himself. “ I just don't know if I could handle seeing you, just to have us torn apart again.” Morty watches slack-jawed as a tear runs down Rick's cheek. 

 

_(What if I said I was just too young?_

_What if I said I was built on bricks of carelessness and crumbs?_

_What if I said I'd be gone before I could come?_

_Would you let me out?)_

 

         Rick wipes away the tears building in his eyes, before looking up to Morty with a kind smile. “Go home, Morty. And if not, then you know where the good space bars are. I'm proud of your work, by the way. Hell, your ship's probably better than mine.” he laughs. “Nah, what am I saying? I'm the best.” the two giggle before Morty stands up to leave.

_(You ought to know where I'm coming from_

_How I was alone when I burned my home_

_And all of the pieces are torn and thrown_

_You should know where I'm coming from.)_

         “I . . . love you, Rick.”

        “ I love you too kiddo. Good luck out there.” Rick gives him a salute before the gaurds come back in to guide him back into the unit. Rick genuinely smiles for the first time in months.

  _(You sought out ways_

_My own, my own_

_But you turn me away from my low blows_

_Boy, you should've known.)_

 

         Heading back out into the small lot, Morty slowly heads back to his ship. “You know he doesn't care, right?”

         Shocked by the voice, Morty quickly turns to veiw the person. It's the Morty with the eyepatch from way back when. For a moment he wonders if he should be scared or worried, but shrugs it off as he moves to light a cigarette.

“I doubt a mentally ill detoxing lifer would bother to only pretend to love me.”

         The other Morty raises an eyebrow at him, clearly not expecting an answer like that. For a moment he considers the possibility that he caught the wrong Morty. “You _are_ C-137, right?” his tone is dull and low, almost passive. Morty nods in reply. The two of them pause for a moment. “I know what you may be thinking about this place. What's the security like, are they as dumb as earth cops, just how can I get Rick out of there? I can tell you a lot about everything, and frankly I'd like to talk to you. Mind going for a ride?” he nods to Morty's ship.

         Morty turns his cigarette towards the other. “Sure, but don't think you can take advantage of me in any way thinking I'm a dependant anxious teen. You make a move and I'll have no problem with the idea of killing myself.” he coughs and spits out the taste of tobacco. “Trust me, the idea's crossed my mind before.”

 

_(You should know where I'm coming from.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk how to properly write evil mort,,,,, , ,, ,, but I need him lmao


	3. I Am Not a Robot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morty ends up staying in Mortimer's (Evil Morty's) side home as the other attempts to persuade him into joining an anti-Rick mindset. During this time, they both end up making valid points about their lives. Who will persuade who?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on I Am Not a Robot by Marina and the Diamonds.
> 
> sorry Mortimer is just kind of an easier name to use given the situation, and I've seen a few people use it before. Also I've taken to developing him as a character who's cold and misunderstanding, but confused and angsty on the inside, since we don't know much about him yet.  
> there's some abuse talk in this one. Kinda just basing out of experience so idk

        The ride is quiet and awkward, much to his dismay. Morty glances over to his alternate self. “So, uh, what dimension are you from again?” he asks, but gets no reply. “Okay, well . . . the whole double situation is kinda awkward, so, I'm just gonna call you Mortimer.” 'Mortimer' looks over at him with a confused face, before turning his attention back out to the stars before him. Mortimer had given him coordinates, but overall he didn't know exactly where they were going. Just had to wait and see, he supposed.

        When they arrive, Morty is confused. It's a small place on a small planet, probably a mesoplanet by the look of it. It has constrast based upon the last place he saw this Morty, at least. “Land here.” Mortimer commands.

The two move to exit the ship, but pause when Mortimer grunts and grasps at his eyepatch. “Are you uh, are you okay?” he asks, halfway out of the ship.

“. . . Yes. Let's just get inside.” Morty can tell by the tone that he isn't okay, but shrugs it off anyways.

“So why have you taken to living in such a small place compared to last time?” he asks.

“It's not good to have weapons of mass destruction where you eat.”

 

_(You've been acting awful tough lately_

_Smoking a lot of cigarettes lately_

_But inside, you're just a little baby_

_Oh . . .)_

        Mortimer shows him inside, and Morty is pleased with how cozy it actually is on the inside. Guess every vaguely villanous Morty has a lazy teenage boy side. Mortimer roughly guides him over towards the dimly lit dining room, offering him a seat before moving towards the cupboard. “Can I uh, smoke in here?” Morty asks, eyeing the items that Mortimer pulls out. Antiseptic, cotton face pads, a tube of Bacitracin, and a self-adhesive cotton eyepatch. Morty watches intensely as Mortimer removes his own black eyepatch, which turns out to have had a cotton adhesive one on the interior of it anyways. An adhesive patch covered in . . . scar residue? Mortimer moves in such a way so that he can't see his right eye.

“Do whatever.” He says before moving to apply the disinfectant to his face. He finishes up by applying another sterile patch to the interior of his black eyepatch, and covering his eye once more. “Electrical burns. Almost thought I wouldn't need this eyepatch again, but that didn't work out.” Morty nods slowly, bringing the cigarette to his lips.

_(It's okay to say you've got a week spot_

_You don't always have to be on top_

_Better to be hated than love, love, loved for what you're not.)_

“You want to know why I'm talking to you, hm?” he nods again, unsure of what to say. Mortimer sits across from him, sighing.

“I caught wind of Rick being put in prison. Not opposed to it, but also not my preferred outcome. However, I knew that also meant the creation of another Rickless Morty.” There's a pause as Morty huffs out a puff of smoke.

“And?”

“Well, it's not the first time C-137 has lost his Morty.”

“ . . . W-what?” Morty stutters, almost dropping his cigarette as he tries to comprehend the statement.

“And this would be why I wanted to meet.

 

_(You're vulnerable, you're vulnerable_

_You are not a robot,)_

 

 

“I've been through two Ricks in my lifetime. The first one, of dimension C-137. _Your_ Rick. He was rough, but kind. A bitter and messy man, as you know. At age ten I lost him. He became distant to me, and one day, we just wound up separated, to this day I'm unsure of whether it was intentional or accidental. Either way, it was evident he didn't care for me. The council got hold of me and put me with another Rick, dimension E-3401.” he pauses and clenches his jaw, glaring down at the table. Morty waits patiently for him to continue.

_(You're loveable, so loveable_

_But you're just troubled,)_

Slowly, he regains his composure. “. . . For three years I was beaten and neglected. Meanwhile, C-137 ditched me for you, and even then treated you like shit. That's what Rick's do.”

_(Guess what? I'm not a robot, a robot . ._

_Guess what? I'm not a robot, a robot . . . )_

 

“. . . I already know a lot of Rick's are sick fucks, so why are you-”

“ _All_ of them, Morty. Many of them use guilt-tripping, so you feel like you're the one doing something wrong.”

“I know I'm fucking fine. I felt a lot of that guilt and anxiety before, but I've grown and I know I'm not the best but I'm fucking fine.”

“ . . . I wanted to tell you all of this because I knew you might try to break him out. But you're independant, you know how things work in the universe. You shouldn't have to stick by him like this.”

 

_(You've been hanging with the unloved kids_

_Who you never really liked and you never trusted_

_But you're so magnetic, you pick up all the pins)_

 

        Morty sighs, dropping his cigarette to the wooden floor and crushing it, feeling Mortimer's disapproving gaze on him. “Listen.” he pauses, making sure he has Mortimer's complete attention.

_(Never committing to anything,_

_You don't pick up the phone when it ring, ring, rings.)_

“I know I'll never understand what you've gone through, but know that I've been abused too, and not at the hands of a Rick. If there's something I know, it's that by planning revenge on that person, you're keeping yourself chained to them. Once they're gone, they're gone, and you have your own life. If you keep trying to get back at them, then you're still latching onto that abuse. You're dependant on it, because it's most of what you've known in your life. Once you let go of them, you're free. The memories are still going to sting, and sometimes you'll cry, but you can be proud because now you have a life without them. Your problem, Mortimer,” he slowly reaches out to place a shaky hand over the other's cold and pale ones. “is that you're still seeking a life around them.”

_(Don't be so pathetic, just open up and sing.)_

 

For the first time ever, Morty sees surprise in the other's eyes, uncommon amongst a face that seems to always display fatigue and passiveness.

_(I'm vulnerable, I'm vulnerable.)_

Mortimer's eyes are wide and dark as his cold hands begin to shake in realization that maybe, just maybe, this Morty is right. Quickly snapping out of it, he draws his hands away.

_(I am not a robot.)_

“You can stay here if you want. I don't want you doing anything stupid at that prison.”

_(You're loveable, so loveable_

_But you're just troubled . . .)_

 

        As awkward as housing with another version of himself is, he still prefers it to choosing between home, sleeping in the ship, or an alien inn. For the rest of the day (?), he watches films on Mortimer's television and continues working on his notes. Restless and not wanting to leave Morty by himself for the time, Mortimer doesn't have much else to do than work on schematics and watch the films with him. It's during what Morty can only assume is the evening that Mortimer takes his meds before heading into the shower. Morty pays no mind until hearing the alarming noise of Mortimer coughing and slipping.

        Scrambling up off of the couch, Morty runs to make sure he's okay, hesitating slightly upon realizing the other was nude. Remembering that hey, that's your body, it's fine, he moves to see if Mortimer is okay.

_(Guess what? I'm not a robot, a robot . .)_

“Hey, hey, what happened?”

“D-don't . . .” he coughs some more, clutching his stomach before moving his hands to his head instead. “Don't touch me.”

“Jesus, did you . . .?” Morty mumbles, glancing over towards the small bottle of capsules on the bathroom counter, recalling that Mortimer had been drinking prior to taking them.

_(Guess what? I'm not a robot, a robot . . .)_

“Go away, I'm fine, it was an accident.”

         Morty pauses, looking over the other's body. Bruises, scars, dents, and burns are scattered across his body, yet he can only imagine what from.

_(Can you teach me how to feel real?)_

        Missions, mishaps, abuse . . . Morty tries not to think about the cause, instead placing his hand on Mortimer's side and helping him up, moving him over to what he guessed was the bedroom. He lays him down and pulls the covers over him, whilst Mortimer does his best to smack him away.

_(Can you turn my power on?)_

“Has this ever happened to you before?” Morty asks, and the other hesitates before slowly nodding no. Huffing, Morty leaves before coming back with a glass of water. “Your stomach is gonna feel like it's doing flips for a while and you're probably gonna be dizzy. It's best to sleep it off.”

 

_(Guess what? I'm not a robot_

_Guess what? I'm not a robot)_

 

“I know this is weird because we don't really fucking know each other, but we still have to figure things out because I've got nothing else to live for and I'm not sure you do either, so for now, just . . . just sleep and try not to mix alcohol and prozac again. The wiring doesn't make your body any less human.” Mortimer eyes him warily, before turning over and burrowing into the covers.

 

_(Guess what? I'm not a robot, a robot . ._

_Guess what? I'm not a robot, a robot . . . )_

 Mortimer is left with his thoughts for the rest of the night, unsure of how to handle the events of the day. He had intended to turn Morty away from Ricks, gain him as another mindless associate, and yet . . . It was almost the opposite. The words still linger fresh in his mind. 'By planning revenge, you're keeping yourself chained to them.' . . . he decides to stop thinking about it and leave the existential crisis for another day.

 

 

        The morning is quiet, Morty simply sitting on the couch and watching whatever alien film happened to be on. Mortimer slowly shuffles into the living room, grabbing the remote and shutting the television off, grabbing Morty's attention.

“ . . . . I can help you.”

 

 

_(Guess what? I'm not a robot, a robot . . ._

_Guess what? I'm not a robot, a robot . . . . . .)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CCCEEELLELebrATE gOod TemS COME ONnn


	4. Lulled by Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mortimer starts on the plan to get C-137 out of prison, and realizes that he can get better. Morty didn't think he'd find someone more broken than himself, and right enough, the most broken person he knows is himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (looks at MajixTrixx) ,,, , (blushes)
> 
> hi!! sorry I've been away for a while, I was staying at my dad's house without my files and it turns out I've got bronchitis so I've been kinda groggy and lazy as well, ahhheh, , ,,  
> I know a lot of people probably wont like such a human portrayal of Evil Morty, but I'm kind of just writing him how I feel is right, especially as I used to personally relate to how I'm portraying him. So I like him, and I'd like to keep developing him this way. also yeah my escape plan is bullshit but that's why its fanfiction lmao
> 
> Based on Lulled by Numbers by IAMX

Morty watches carefully as the other takes his medications, tugging a small smile when he finishes up the proper doses. “Y'know if I wanted someone to dote on me, I would have found a Beth.” Mortimer huffs what Morty thinks might be a laugh. He nods a thank you when Mortimer hands him a cup of coffee.

“Aheh, I'm honestly still a bit of a worrier.”

“Even for me?”

“Probably.”

It's quiet save for the white noise of the television in the background as they sip their coffees and dip into daydreams. Morty thinks about life as usual, getting fucked up with Rick, having a nice cliche end where the enemy turns nice. He knew Mortimer wasn't the enemy anymore, but he would be bitter for a long time still. Past emotional trauma, Morty wasn't sure how an interaction between Mortimer and his Rick would go. Violent, sad, bittersweet, forgiving?

_(_ _Who put the mess in your head?  
Filtering the sense of all you could have said __)_  
  
“. . . What are you going to do once we get him out?”

“Hm?”

“Y-you know, once we break him out, and I don't even know your plan for that yet, what will you do? What will we do? And past that, why are you helping me?” he pauses. “Us. Why are you helping us?”

Mortimer stays quiet for a moment, wracking his brain for answers. He was throwing himself into breaking a man out of max prison without even knowing why. “I don't know why I'm helping you. My mind had been set on the opposite for a long time, and yet . . . I think, talking about it with someone who maybe understands the concept of abuse . . . It's different. Not what I thought it would be.”

“What did you think it would be like?”

_(_ _Who stole the words from your mouth?  
So twisted in contagion and reaching out __)_  


“ . . . Shared hatred. An emotional fire that survivors could bond over. But, listening to you, it's more like . . . a solemn healing. Something warmer that you talk out with each other so it can be put behind you easier.”

“So what you're telling me is that through all this time, you've never just . . . talked about how you felt?” Morty asks slowly, and in a hushed tone. He'd been through repressed emotions, but this was something else.

“Well I mean, after I got left behind, I just felt worthless. That feeling stuck around for a while, and then I got assigned to a new Rick, and I . . . I didn't have anybody, he kept me cut off from everybody.” They lock eyes for a moment as Mortimer's breath begins to hitch, uneven and heavy with emotion. “I've been dead inside for so long and no one ever told me that other people feel this way.” His voice steadies to his usual cold tone again as he takes a deep breath and regains composure.

“Stop that.”

“What?”

“Holding in your emotions. Have you ever cried in front of somebody who bothered to listen?”

_( If this is the lullaby then  
   Why am I not sleeping easy?_

_    If you leave me alone, I will come home _

_   Dragging my tails behind me ) _

 

Mortimer averts his stare to the table before him, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He's been cold for so long. He stands up quickly, nearly spilling his coffee as he awkwardly begins to pace in the dining room. “Not-not right now, I-I-I . . we need to talk out a plan. I've got ideas.” Morty huffs, so close to getting Mortimer to open up, but covers it with an attentive attitude, ready to hear the other's plans. Mortimer takes a deep breath, before sitting back down and folding his hands in his lap.

“The idea is basic, kind of a Rick-swap, which if you didn't know, is something that happens often amongst non-attentive Ricks and Mortys, or sort of a Rick or Morty trade off. Black market stuff. For example, two Rick's want each other's Mortys, they switch, and after a while of breaking each other in, no one could tell the difference. Unless they're physically different Mortys, something the council notices quickly, but even then, you could change the memory of a Beth or a Jerry to believe their son always looked that way. Tricky shit, try to keep out of it, but . . . there are a few Ricks the council can't bother to care for, and I've got a couple in mind. Do you see where I'm going with this?”

Morty stares, letting the idea sink in. It's kind of a bit to really take in, but . . . he thinks he gets the idea.

“Wouldn't the different Rick rat the plan out?”

 

_(Sweetheart, don't hang me out to dry_

_When nothing is left, there is always us)_

 

“A lot of prisoners go fucking crazy in the pen, so quite frankly I wouldn't put it past them to write anything he says up as something like Bipolar Disorder, Scizophrenia, or even just a shitty excuse to try and get out of a sentence. They may have a lot of chains and hard technology, but they're roughly as smart as some Earth prison gaurds.”

 

Morty takes a deep breath. “So . . . basically what you're telling me is, we're going to kidnap a Rick, break into a max prison, switch Ricks, and then just . . . in and out, like that?”

“Similar runs have been done before, and a few of the runners never got caught.”

“This is . . . this is fucking insane, how would we even get in there?”

_(When nothing is left, there is always us)_

“Almost every surface in that establishment is designed to deflect portal fluid.” he stares at Morty for a moment, making sure he was even making sense to him. “Like, if you tried to shoot an Aperture portal at, for example, a Turret. The surface isn't steady enough for the portal to manifest, so it simply doesn't, and now you're stuck in front of a Turret and have to scramble out of the way. It's like that, but less fucking nerd.” Morty slowly nods.

“So then how would we get in?”

  “ The building is made to deflect basic forms of portal fluid, but there are other ways.” Mortimer moves to a suitcase he had brought back with him earlier in the day, setting it onto the table and opening it. He turns it to show Morty, the inside compartments tighly lined with vials of liquids and gasses. Mortimer picks out a small, tightly sealed vial of grey fluid. “They do their best to ward off basic portal fluid, but they forget about the good black market shit. Krasnikov Tubes. Go in one way, do your thing at your planet and time destination, and go back through the tube to minutes, hours, days after you had left. You could spent a year on another planet and upon returning through one of these, be back on the same planet and in the same year you were as you first left. It's like time and space travel mixed into one, minus the overlapping.”

“Um.” is all Morty manages to mumble in response. Wormholes really weren't his fucking strong suit.

"Where are we going?” Morty asks, slipping on his shoes.

“We're going to go get a Rick.” Mortimer replies, tossing a handgun Morty's way. He stumbles as he attempts to catch it, almost dropping it before shoving it down the band of his pants. 

“I mean, as long as you know what you're doing, I guess?”

“Get in, locate the Rick, subdue him, tranquilize him, load him onto the ship, and bring him back.  Have him sleep the night, head out with him tomorrow.” Mortimer explains strictly, before heading out the door with a bag full of god knows what. Morty sighs, tucking a cigarette behind his ear before slowly following behind him into the ship. He lets Mortimer drive this time.

_(If I could sing you to sleep_

_Lay you down and pray that you're the soul to keep)_

“Morty.” he says, waking the sleeping boy up. Morty lifts his head from Mortimer's shoulder, apparently having fell asleep on him during the ride. He groans and rubs at his tired eyes. 

“Are we there?” he mumbles.  Mortimer glances around a bit before nodding yes, and reaching back to grab his bag. The two exit the ship before looking around the bland area, run-down and almost rustic. “Are you, uh, sure about that?” Mort y asks, sliding the cigarette out from behind his ear and shuffling around in his pockets for a lighter. Once he's got his lighter shoved back into his pocket, Mortimer grabs his hand and begins to lead him off over the near hill. Morty smiles. For such a cold and bruised boy, he sure did have baby-soft hands.

 Upon reaching the top of the hill, they see a small messy house, a ship parked in the garage. “Oh.” Morty mumbles, tightening his grib on Mortimer's hand. They still for a moment before continuing towards the house. 

They pause once more outside the door, Mortimer grabbing a dart gun out of his bag before taking a few deep breaths. “If I do anything stupid,dart him and pull me back.” he shakily murmers, handing another dart gun to Morty, who raises a nervous eyebrow in curiosity before Mortimer leans back to kick the door open. 

_(I would be all that you need_

_Wider eyes oblivious to everything . . .)_

“Who the fuck?!” screams Rick, who had previously been sitting on the couch and messing with a project, now startled and standing up. He shot his hands up as Mortimer aimed the dart gun at him, hesitant. Morty watched the way his hands shook while he aimed, before quickly examining the Rick. His hair was dirty and cut unevenly, as if he had chosen to cut random parts of it, and he wore only a white, stained wifebeater, and pants with random burn marks and spots of cigarette ash. “Oh, Oh my god, it's this little slut, and he brought a friend!” the Rick lets out a hearty laugh, letting his hands fall to his sides. The shocking realization  of what was going on shot through Morty like a spear. “Long time no fuckin' see! Come on in, have a seat, can I get anything for your spoiled lil asses?” he smirks. Mortimer noticibly shakes more as the Rick keeps talking, finger trying to press down on the trigger, but seemingly unable to in a state of panic. “Seriously, why the fuck are you back?” he growls, spitting towards Morty.

_( If this is a lullaby then why am I not sleeping easy?)_

Mortimer is still frozen in his state of panic, breath shaky as his eyes begin to gleam with tears that threatened to spill. “M-M-MM . . .” he mumbles shakily, attempting to say something. “Mort-y, p-please,” he whines. Morty takes a deep breath, pushing Mortimer behind him as he aimes his gun at the Rick, firing a dart into his neck. Morty watches the Rick fall to the floor, before turning to make sure Mortimer's okay. He seems to have calmed down upon watching his Rick fall unconscious. Catching his breath, he shoves past Morty and looms over the Rick, dropping the gun before reeling to kick him in the side. 

_(If you leave me alone, I will come home_

_Dragging my tails behind me)_

“Mortimer, you didn't tell me it would be E-3401.”  he watches as Mortimer spits on the Rick, face flushed red and tears streaming down his cheeks. It was so morbid seeing him like this. He was just so fucking human at the core, and it was easy to forget that. 

_(Sweetheart, don't hang me out to dry)_

Morty swallows thickly as he moves to grab the Rick by the feet, dragging him towards the door. Mortimer follows slowly as Morty manages to drag the limp body of E-3401 towards the ship. He throws him in the trunk before grabbing rough rope out of the bag, tying the man's hands behind his back.  Taking one last puff, he exhales and smashes his cigarette into the Rick's shoulder, leaving a small burn. He sighs heavily as he shuts the trunk, moving to sit beside Mortimer on the patchy grass of the hill. He leans a bit closer to him as a gesture of comfort, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. 

  _(When nothing is left, there is always us_

_When nothing is left, there is always us)_

“W-Why are you . . . trying to console me? It's just,” he hiccups, a low state of hysteria setting in. “It's a waste of time.”

“ . . . Please stop acting like you're nothing. You're so smart, like with all that stuff you taught me about wormholes and portals! A-and, I know it's kind of hard to see, but you're a kind person. Just look at how much you're doing to help me!”  he sighs. “Just take deep breaths,  _Morty_ .”

 

_(When nothing is left, there is always us_

_When nothing is left, there is always us . .)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw let me know if I should end this more rickmorty, mortycest, or just as general happy reunion, because I enjoy all three and I will literally do alternate endings if I have to lol


	5. Please Mr. Jailer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They did it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is lame. I've been so tired lately, and I'm just happy to be writing at all, y'know? Better things to come next chapter ~

Mortimer bites his lip as he sorts through the supplies, pausing when he draws blood. He shrugs it off and continues inventory. Krasnikov fluid, sedatives, a Rick in a stolen jumpsuit, memory erasure fluid, syringes, and . . . cigarettes? Morty’s contribution, he supposed. He takes a slow, deep breath as he begins to map out the plan. Morty wormholes to the office, sedates the guards, and handles the confinement settings. Mortimer wormholes to the back of the ‘cell’ platform, then maneuvers to Rick. (upon hearing this pitch, Morty had snorted and thought of Monsters Inc.).  
Mortimer had hauled off countless Mortys alongside his Rick figure, it shouldn’t be too hard to maneuver a couple sleeping Ricks through a krasnikov tube . . . rightside up . . . balancing on metal high above the ground . . . by himself . . . g r e a t.  
“Hey Morty, you uh, can’t smoke in an ultramax prison.” Morty looks over upon hearing his name, and gives a pained look of internal cringe. “We can have some to celebrate afterwards though. I’ll even have one with you.” He smirks, before moving to zip up the bag. “It’s lights out at Mill_Haven soon.” Mortimer mumbles, taking Morty’s hand in his.  
(Please Mr. Jailer  
Won’tcha let my man go free?)  
“Hey . . .” Morty stares as everything seems to slow down, Mortimer’s grip on his hand slowly tightening, yet still gentle. “Please don’t die. This kind of shit happens to Mortys all the time, and I think you matter a lot more than any of them, so just . . . don’t end up like them . . . or me, okay?” Mortimer says in a low tone, seemingly too ashamed to speak any louder.   
(He don’t belong in prison, though he’s guilty as can be, )  
“. . . I promise.” Morty manages to speak clearly, somewhat entranced by the glassy look of Mortimer’s stare. “But you gotta promise the same to me, okay?” Mortimer pauses, eyes wide, before hastily nodding. “Thank you.” Morty speaks in a soft tone, well aware that this was to be the calm before the storm.   
(But the only crime he’s guilty of,   
Is simply loving me,)  
The house is quiet as the two commence with last minute preparations, sorting out vials of krasnikov fluid and positioning the sleeping Rick for placement. Mortimer grabs one of the dark grey vials, looking over to Morty for approval to open it. Sliding on a dark red beanie, he nods with a nonchalant smile. He takes a deep breath before unscrewing the cap and pouring it in a circle formation onto the kitchen floor. It quickly begins to spread to the inside of the circle, before it takes the formation of a grey and black portal-like formation. Morty takes a deep breath before jumping in.  
“ . . . Fffuck.” Mortimer huffs, glancing back over to his Rick, currently slouched against the isle. Now all he had to do was sit and wait for a notification to open another tube.  
(Please Mr. Jailer, won’t you let my man go free?)  
(Please Mr. Jailer, won’t you let this jailbird free?)  
Mortimer crouches to the ground and takes a few deep breaths, the adrenaline just hitting him. It had been a long time since he had done anything to this effect, and this was perhaps the first time he was cooperating with another functioning human being for something like this.  
(Just look into his eyes, open up that door,  
Just listen to his guitar, you’ll know the score,)

He begins to get worried when Morty takes longer than ten minutes, but is relieved by the sound of his cell going off. Knowing it to be him, he opens another vial and spills it to the floor, waiting a few seconds for it to envelope the tiles. Knowing where this tube lead to, he carefully climbs down into it, as opposed to jumping. For a moment, he gets severe whiplash as the tube envelopes him, but clears when he is surrounded by a dark red, and the smell of sweat and cold metal. This was prison, all right. Balancing on the back of one of the thick metal plates, he glances around for cameras, before shuffling to the side pf the plate to look out onto the rest of the prison. He doesn’t too much care for the look of the place, only for cameras and the windowed section of the control room. Squinting, he can see Morty saluting him like a fucking dork. He smirks, before glancing around for cameras. Confused to find them all drooping in an off position, he glances back to find Morty giving him a thumbs up. Smiling and huffing a sigh of relief, he looks around at the mass of sleeping prisoners, finding Rick only four cell panels away, going left. Maneuvering back to the back of the panel, he takes a deep breath before hopping one leg over to the support of the next, grabbing onto the side railing and pulling the rest of him over. He repeats this until he’s standing, shaky and nerve-shocked, on the back of Rick’s cell panel.  
(Please Mr. Jailer, let an honest man go free,)  
Leaning over the side of the panel, he feels his heart pang, and the breath leave his lungs upon seeing him. He’d seen the faces of many Ricks, thousands that could replace this one, thousands that could have been replaced by this one, and yet . . . knowing who this one was, was just so much to take in. Rick always looked calmer when he was sleeping. It was almost soothing in itself just to watch him. Snapping out of it, Mortimer takes a breath to ground himself, before tugging a syringe filled with sedative from his carrier belt. Gently taking hold of Rick’s arm, he sticks the needle in and presses the drugs through. They couldn’t risk having him wake up in a state of hysteria. It’s then, holding the man’s arm, that he notices the bruises, and claw marks, both old and new. The older ones seemed self-inflicted, somewhat similar to the anxious habit that Mortimer used to have, himself.   
(Please Mr. Jailer, don’t you make no lifer out of me,)  
He hastily gives Morty a thumbs up, before wrapping his arm around the man’s torso. Seconds later, the locks on his wrists, ankes, and neck, are released, causing him to go limp in Mortimer’s arms. He notes just how painfully cold the man is, before stifling a grunt and tugging him to the back of the cell panel. Keeping him in place against the metal with his back, he fumbles to open another tube, thus closing the one left on the other cell panel. Grunting, he manages to throw both himself and Rick into the tube, yelling when they hit the kitchen floor on the other side. Muscles sore, he manages to sit up, glancing over at Rick’s face. Memories flood, soon covered by the euphoria of reunion and victory,  
(I’m innocent, I swear it  
Let my woman testify,)  
Looking back over to the other Rick, his heart drops. Still work to do. Mortimer smirks at the thought of dumping his abusive ass in an ultramax where he belongs. He stretches, joints releasing small cracking noises, before sorely moving over to E-3401. Pulling him by the shoulders, he swallows down the adrenaline of a so-far-so-good breakout.   
(Yeah I’m his alibi!)   
Straining his joints to tug the man over to the wormhole, he finally manages to slip in, taking a deep breath as he’s once again thrusted into the awkward position on the back of the cellblock. For a moment, he feels nauseous from the heights, but quickly manages to choke it back down. He has to get this done, and then they can all go home, save for this one.  
(Please Mr. Jailer, won’t you let my man go free?)  
Shuffling around the cell side like he had before, he manages to push E-3401 sloppily into the shackle area, letting his feet rest on the bottom support of the cell tile. He was going to fucking hate it in this hell hole, and Mortimer felt great knowing that.  
(Well I’m tired of pressing liscense plates  
Down in this rotten hole,)  
What even was C-137’s sentence? If Mortimer had to guess, two life sentences. Hell, maybe more, just for the sake of punctuation.   
(I’ve got to reach the outside,  
Before I lose control,)  
Keeping his arms in position, he waits for Morty to set the shackles, which loudly press shut around the man’s wrists. A few inmates stir at the abrupt noise, but don’t bother to instigate or pay too much attention during lights out. Sleep was fleeting here. Mortimer leans back, joy sparking across his face as he finally gets to see his Rick locked up. Hell, this man wasn’t his Rick anymore. He was worth no more than the cigarettes he’d be traded for.   
(Please Mr. Jailer, don’t you make no lifer out of me,)  
Tumbling back into the wormhole, Mortimer falls against the floor, exhausted. With a kick against the floor, the wormhole snaps shut. Now he just has to wait for another to open, signaling Morty’s return.   
Taking a deep breath, he sits up to look down at the sleeping face of C-137. “You’re finally out, shithead.”  
(Please Mr.Jailer, let me out of this penitentiary,)  
“Your family’s gonna be so excited, Rick.” Mortimer begins speaking as though the man can hear him. “You’ve been in there, what, six months? Must be painstaking for Beth. For mom. Better than the twenty years though, huh? She’ll be so glad to see you again. Morty, too.”  
(Please Mr. Jailer, don’t you make no lifer out of me.)  
“Ugh. It’s gonna be a while before he wakes up . . . I’ll work it out later.” He huffs to himself, falling back onto the cold tile of the floor. The warping noise of the wormhole fills the kitchen once more as Morty stumbles in, tired and panting. He goes quiet when he sees his Rick layed out on the floor.   
(Please Mr. Jailer, won’t you let my baby go free?)  
Mortimer can’t strain his neck enough to see, but he can clearly hear the sniffling of the boy’s sobs. He glances over to watch as Morty falls to the floor beside him, hand out and pressed against Rick’s cheek.   
(Woah, oah, let my man go free,)  
The two of them go wide eyed as Rick hazily begins to open his eyes, the commotion bringing him a bit out of the drug nap. He coughs and rubs at his eyes, before closing them again and relaxing.   
“Where the fuck am I?”

(Woah, oh, don’t you make no lifer out of me  
Please Mr. Jailer, can’t you see how much love she’s got for me?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Please Mr. Jailer" in the style of Jeff Beck (Cry Baby soundtrack).


	6. BITE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recognition, relapse, and a couple naps in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i pushed this out before march, aint that somethin
> 
> this is probably a weird chapter, but, anyways
> 
> also frankly i just rlly need rick in an oversized sex pistols shirt okay shh

          The room is cold and bland, though welcoming in contrast to the rooms of the prison. He frowns and grunts, toying with the idea that maybe he had almost kicked it, only to be ‘saved’ by the shitty healthcare staff. He struggles to open his heavy eyes, before managing to get a good look of his surroundings. He doesn’t remember this place. It’s dark and cheap-looking, somewhat of a low budget feeling to it. Yet still, a vague sense of comfort follows.

          Sliding gently off the edge of the bed, he grimaces as he realizes how sore his muscles are. Looking down at himself, he takes note of the oversized Sex Pistols shirt and grey boxer briefs. Charming. He huffs a sigh, shuffling out into the hallway. Light dances across the hall, emanating from the living room, presumably a television screen. Stopping at the doorway, he glances around. His eyes focus first on the image of Gillian Anderson’s young, freckled face greeting him from upon the screen. His stare lingers for a moment, before looking over to the couch, only to find two young boys with fluffy brown hair atop their heads. His heart sinks. He returns his attention back to the screen, watching as Scully throws some theory-breaking points at Mulder.

          “Y-Y’know there’s a dimension where every character is played by Gillian. E-Even the- even the aliens.” He mumbles out, causing the two boys to snap their heads in his direction. He smirks as their eyes light up in a starstruck image of innocence, like kids on Christmas morning.

          “Rick!” They call in unison, hopping off of the couch to run over and hug him, a set of arms enveloping him from each side.

          “Woah, woah guys.” Rick takes a moment to study each Morty, the one on his left a generic Earth Morty, and the same on the right, save for the white medical patch covering his right eye that differentiated them.                                    “A couple questions, and one request.” Both loosen their grip to look up at him expectantly. “The request, first of all, being get the fuck off of me.” The two step back a few feet. “Question number one, where are your Ricks, and question number two, who’s fucking Sex Pistols shirt am I wearing?”

          Morty casts a glance to Mortimer, who is currently fixated on Rick’s pale face, before he looks off to the side awkwardly. “U-Um . . .” he coughs to clear his throat. Goddamn stutter. “That’s his shirt, ahheh, and, you’re my Rick . . . I guess technically you’re his too. It’s me.” He becomes quieter the further the sentence goes, before finally stopping. He watches as Rick’s jaw slowly drops in shock. Rick suddenly falls to his knees with a loud thud, tugging Morty in for a tight hug.

          “Oh my god, you little piece of shit.” Rick says, an oddly admiring undertone to the rough words. He leans back to look over at Mortimer. “Um, I-I don’t think you belo- I don’t think you’re mine, kid. One Morty is enough for me.” There’s silence for a moment as the two lock eyes.

          “Do you . . . Do you remember,” Mortimer clears his throat, earning an impatient look from Rick. “Planet Reverie, some alien rave . . .” Rick glances away in thought. “being so drunk off of your ass that you straight up forgot your young grandson at a bar full of alien perverts? Does that ring any bells?” Mortimer’s voice begins to crack as he finishes his sentence.

          “I-I didn’t – “

          “Coulda tracked me, but the council noticed me faster than you did. So-so you, and let me have my guess here, you couldn’t take the heat from Beth, so you just left her again? Hopped to a dimension where her Rick never had a second thought about her and just took his place? Was that just so much fucking easier than committing to your own dimension?”

          Morty glances over at the anger and guilt mixing across Rick’s face, before stepping over to place a hand on Mortimer’s shoulder, prompting the boy to take a deep breath. Rick seems almost bewildered at the connection between the two Mortys. He straightens his face when Mortimer looks back at him. His expression his tense, but not angry. Mortimer’s muscles twitch, as his mind scrambles to sort his own thoughts. In a fast movement, he falls forward with a sob, wrapping his arms tightly around Rick’s torso. Rick’s eyes widen in shock, exchanging a confused glance with Morty before tiredly giving in to the embrace, rubbing soft circles into the boy’s back.

_(Kiss me on the mouth and set me free,_

_Sing me like a choir,)_

 

It’s quiet once more, save for the muffled sound of Mortimer crying against Rick’s shirt. Rick slows his movements, glancing awkwardly back over to the television.

          “So-so you guys are X-Files nerds huh.”

 

 

          Morty leans hesitantly against Rick’s shoulder, his head swimming. He worries for a moment that just the sound of the man’s voice could send him into sensory overload.

       _(I can be the subject of your dreams,_

_Your sickening desire,)_

          It had been so long since they had been intimate, in any and every sense of the word. His stomach twists with anxiety.

          _(Don’t you wanna see a man up close,_

_A phoenix in the fire?)_

Rick clears his throat over the sound of Mortimer exploring his own kitchen. “Has Beth been okay?” he asks, never prying his eyes away from the TV screen.

          “I don’t know, mom doesn’t talk much.” Rick is quiet for a moment.

          “How about Summer?”

          “Still stressed out about home life, but y’know, she’s living.” He pauses, huffing a laugh. “She’s been getting to know Jessica. I think Summer might actually have a better chance with her than I do.”

          “Maybe if you’re lucky, Summer’ll share some of Jessica’s pics.” Rick suggests, snorting a laugh before his expression rapidly falters.

          “Hah, maybe.” Morty replies half-heartedly.

          “And what bullshit is Jerry up to? How-How’s he doing?”

          “. . .” Morty pauses, unsure of what to reply with. “He’s fine.” Morty glances away, taking a deep breath when he realizes he’s glaring. They let the tension speak for itself.

          “. . . How did, how did you two . . .?” Rick motions useless gestures as he attempts to find the right words.

          “How did I meet Mortimer?”

          “Is that what you’re calling him?”

          “I mean, it helps. Feels weird referring to myself, so using my birth name is relevant but not confusing. Anyways,” Morty trails off as Mortimer walks into the room. Morty giggles as he watches the other boy try to balance three soda cans on top of each other in one hand, a pack of smokes clutched in the other. He tosses the small carton over at Morty’s head before setting each can down on the table. Mortimer stands up straight to examine the scene, Morty nuzzling against Rick’s side. He knows he should be charmed, but somehow he isn’t. His expression blanks.

       _(So kiss me on the mouth and set me free,_

_But please don’t bite.)_

          “You okay, Mortimer?” Morty asks with a careful tone. The sound of his own, gentle voice makes him dizzy, and upon regaining stability, he smiles.

          “Uh-huh.”

        _(You can coax the cold right out of me,)_

          Mortimer watches awkwardly as Rick moves the cough cushion out of the way, making room for the boy to sit down beside him. Mortimer is terrified to make eye contact with the man, as he simply nods and takes a seat. He can feel the heat emanating off of him.

       _(Drape me in your warmth,_

_The rapture in the dark puts me at ease,)_

          The night is slow, and an odd mix of discomfort and closure. It’s spent sitting on the couch, awkwardly stretching across each other and knocking elbows in the attempt to find comfort, whilst an X-Files marathon plays for hours. Whilst they find difficulty in communicating, they soak up the bonding time.

         _(the blind eye in the storm . . .)_

          It’s maybe eleven at night when Rick gets up to get another drink, leaving two napping Mortys to lay comfortably on the couch. Still, the movement of the cushion causes Mortimer to snap his eyes open, at first alarmed. Sitting up quickly, he glances around, before he hears Rick fumbling in the kitchen.

          _(Let’s go for a walk down Easy Street,)_

          His heart pounds in his chest. Rick’s scent is everywhere, across the couch, on Morty, on himself. He finds himself feeling sick and scared. A thought sparks in his mind that he knows shouldn’t be there.

        _(Where you can be reborn,)_

                   At first, Rick doesn’t hear him enter the room, caught up in the sound of his own humming. He only notices the boy when he turns to fill his glass, jumping back in shock when he sees him in the doorway. It doesn’t help that Mortimer is staring ahead at him with that goddamn blank expression. Rick takes a deep breath.

      _(And kiss me on the mouth and set me free,)_

          “Hey, uh, Mortimer.” He tests out the name, uncomfortable with how it rolls off of his tongue. Mortimer says nothing, instead taking to biting his lip. “Heh, okay.” Rick dismisses him, turning back to the fridge to open the freezer compartment. It’s in this moment that Rick hears a rough movement from where Mortimer stood behind him, followed by the charge of a gun.

     _(But please don’t bite.)_

 

          Slowly turning, he promptly closes the freezer door behind his back. Mortimer is visibly shaking as he points the gun forward, aiming roughly around Rick’s head. There’s silence as they stare back at each other, both unsure of which moves to make. Rick eases his glare as he watches the uncertainty in the boy.

          “ . . . Morty.” He mumbles. Mortimer’s lip quivers and his hands shake, nearly dropping the gun to the floor. “Im fucking sorry.”

          And this counts the first time Mortimer has ever heard guilt in a Rick’s voice. He shivers, slowly curling in on himself as he lowers to the floor, convulsing as he tries to breath. He whimpers as a state of hysteria begins to set in.

_(Aaah, I’m pulling on your heart to push my luck,_

_Aaah, ‘cus who’s got any time for growing up?)_

          Within seconds he’s reduced to a sobbing mess, hiccupping every so often in an attempt to catch his breath. Morty stirs in the living room, jogging tiredly into the kitchen, stopping abruptly to examine the scene.

          Rick looks over at him, expression soft and sad. Morty isn’t sure how to respond to the odd mix of emotions within the room. He can only watch as Rick shuffles towards Mortimer, kneeling down beside him. Mortimer sobs harder as he leans into the man’s chest, before slowly catching his breath when Rick wraps an arm around his shoulder. Morty’s jaw drops, pausing hesitantly before moving forward to sit in front of them, taking hold of Mortimer’s hand. As he cries, Rick and Morty stare at each other knowingly.

        _(Kiss me on the mouth . . ._

_Kiss me on the mouth and set me free,)_

         

          They lean into each other, encasing Mortimer’s shaking body. Rick nuzzles against both of them, pressing haste kisses to their foreheads before hanging his head.

_(Kiss me on the mouth and set me free,_

_Sing me like a choir, )_

          “I wanna go home,” Mortimer mumbles past rough sobs, and the only thing they can do to help is hold him tighter. They stay this way, cuddling and rocking against each other on the cold floor of the kitchen, until Mortimer’s sobs begin to quiet. He opens his red eyes to look up at Rick.

          _(I can be the subject of your dreams,_

_A sickening desire,)_

          He leans forward all too suddenly, one hand reaching up to cup the side of Rick’s face, fingers ghosting over his rough skin. The look in Rick’s eyes is enough to bring tears to his eyes once more. Mortimer leans in to bury his face  against Rick’s neck.

          _(Don’t you wanna see a man up close?_

_A phoenix in the fire,_

_So kiss me on the mouth and set me free,)_

          Rick outstretches an arm, prompting Morty to do the same on the other side. He whispers small words of comfort as the time passes slowly, until both are asleep in his arms. He carries them to one of the rooms, tucking them both in. He’s about to leave for the spare room, before sighing and moving to lay between them.

     _(But please don’t bite.)_

         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "BITE" in the style of Troye Sivan.


End file.
